Changes
by TheRowlingPierceWriter
Summary: This will become fluff. Right now it is about a new girl at Hogwarts (but she's not a Mary Sue).
1. First Kisses and We Meet the Number One ...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all those associated belong to J.K. Rowling. But I expect you know that already, seeing as you've chosen this fic to read. Enjoy.

"Will you kiss me?" She stared at him in utter amazement, schoolgirl-innocent brown eyes wide with shock. "I _said_," he repeated, "will you kiss me?" Hermione's eyelids fluttered and a pasty white, petite hand flew to her mouth. Impatiently now, her companion demanded, "Will you or will you not kiss me?" She considered, running a sticky tongue along thin lips. She sat solemnly in a remote section of the Hogwarts Grounds, a tree branch length's away from Ron, who was as of now staring dejectedly off into the distance and scowling deeply. Hermione had to admit that his proposal was a good one. Here they were, nearing sixteen, and neither one of them, pathetically, had ever been kissed.

Hermione sighed. She wanted and needed to be kissed, but Ron asking her was both a letdown and a surprise. When she did kiss someone, she kind of wanted it to be special, with a special person. Even Viktor, who swept her off her feet and gave her a place to stay for one whole summer, did not engage in the teenage ritual of snogging with Hermione. 

"We should, you know." Ron interrupted Hermione's thoughts, and she turned to face him. His tone sounded gentler now, more coaxing than demanding. "It would be downright embarrassing if we didn't." He pointed out. She had to agree. 

"Would it be-just strictly platonic? No strings attached?" Hermione asked, speaking for the first time since Ron had suggested it. 

"Of course," he assured, scooting a few feet closer to Hermione, a movement that sent unpleasant shivers up the girl's spine. 

"Well…" Her resolve was softening. Did she _really _want her license before her first kiss? They were best friends, after all. How much could it hurt? "All right." She sighed. Ron smiled victoriously and placed himself at Hermione's immediate right. She held her breath as she might before jumping off the high dive or claiming a tremendous, see-through lie. She could smell Ron before she could taste him and the scent alone made her woozy, despite her qualms.

Kissing, Hermione decided, was in a whole not unlike riding a bike for the first time. There are the first few, wobbly pedals, the growth of confidence and speed, and finally the flying rush that seems near drinkable in its pleasure. She could only pray that she would not hit a curb and smack against pavement in an utter burnout, as she had during her own first bike ride. Hermione expected kissing to be this good. She had a critical mind: why would people make such a fuss over it if it weren't fantastic?

She was not prepared for the feeling she would get when the kiss ended, however. Leaning back, breath coming out in ragged gasps, she saw Ron. And for the first time in her entire life, she saw Ron. 

Minutes ago, Ron was Ron, tall, freckled, redheaded Ron. One of Hermione's best friends. Now Hermione perceived Ron differently. He was handsome. Somewhere in the past few years, he had lost all awkwardness and began to fit into his own skin. He was no longer gangly, but instead lithe and still lean. A strong chin had balanced out the previously large nose and created a young George Clooney kind of impression in Ron's face. His eyes sparked a new fire in her, a fire of-what? Lust? Was that what she had became? Hermione shook her head fiercely and broke away from Ron's gaze.

"Well that was…different." He noted, clearing his throat and unceremoniously leaping down from the low tree branch. Hermione nodded absently, annoyed that she had let herself see Ron in a romantic way. What was she, ignorant? What self-respecting girl let herself become bedazzled by one little kiss? Following his lead, she jumped to the ground and headed into the castle, walking beside Ron, if not exactly with him.

"She is _pretty_," Harry exclaimed, with a slight intake of breath. Ron, beside him, smiled drunkenly, his eyes completely glazed over. Just across the room from them, standing so damn sexily it was hard not to drool, was Ivannah Blowalot. Ivannah, or Ivy, had just transferred from Trenton, New Jersey. She was not your typical beauty, but a woman whose seductive gaze could drop a man at five hundred feet. 

Ivy could not be from Trenton, Hermione surmised. Trenton girls, judging from the American exchange students they had housed previously at Hogwarts, were not beauties. Not beauties like Ivy, anyway. What central Jersey girl had hair that luminous, eyes shaped that oval, lips that luscious? Even more dismal was the fact that there were no traces of makeup on Ivy's perfect face. She was either born deformed and had undergone numerous plastic surgeries, or was just plain lucky. Hermione couldn't stand her either way. She flirted incessantly, and obviously cared more about herself than any other person in the room. She didn't seem to notice that her ass was practically falling out of her mini skirt, or that it was evident that her cleavage was larger than a grown woman's was. From the lollipop she was lolling about in her mouth beguilingly, it was manifest that she possessed no gag reflex whatsoever. Hermione didn't even _want_ to think about that. 

All over the room, teenage boys were following Ivy's every alluring move with ecstasy. Even Snape had paused his hateful stare to marvel at Ivy's oh-so-popular buttocks. It being her first day at Hogwarts, she had not yet been Sorted, and took her time swaying up to Dumbledore and the Hat. She could feel each pair of male eyes on her lower back, and used the moment to turn, smile captivatingly, and twinkle her melting chocolate pupils. 

"Blowalot, Ivannah?" The headmaster read from a transcript he held. Ivy winked, waved with charm pouring from her fingertips to the crowd, and pranced to a seat on the stool. Instantaneously, the hat burst into song.

She utilized the thirty seconds of prose wisely (or so the boys thought). Flipping back waves of mahogany tresses, Ivy batted her eyelashes and fingered a sterling silver bracelet that hung just the right length away from her ivory wrist. 

Ron panted at his seat. He concluded that looking at Ivannah was agonizing, because of her sexy splendor, and not looking at her was equally tormenting, because of her comeliness. He didn't hear a word of the Sorting Hat's song, too transfixed on the natural, perfect curves of Ivy's body only a dozen or so yards ahead. Seated beside him, Harry was draped over his chair in a total lack of strength to function with. 

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat shrieked, jerking the boys out of their reverie. The male members of Ravenclaw jumped to a standing ovation, whilst the other masculine beings (and some who were not) deflated unhappily. As the student body milled out of the hall, action over for the day, Hermione did not take her place next to Harry and Ron. Instead, she sought out Ginny in an utter panic. 

"I can't believe it!" Hermione yelped to the fire-haired girl, upon finding her. Ginny nodded in solemn agreement, swiveling around her head to see not Ivy but the massive cluster of boys that surrounded her. Surprisingly enough, there were a few girls clamoring to associate with the already popular Ivy. Ginny frowned.

"She's intoxicated all of them," Ginny remarked disapprovingly. "I mean, every single guy must have a boner by now!" Sadly, her outburst was correct. Although teenage boys are prone to become aroused by even the smallest of sexual subtleties, it was clear that Ivy passed by the 'small sexual subtlety' mark and than some. 

"Hey, Ginny," Hermione suddenly said, "would you like to sleep with me in my dormitory tonight? It's Friday, so we don't have classes tomorrow or anything. Besides, you can keep me from thinking about my hatred for that future playboy bunny too much." 

"Well, I'm not sure I can help you out with that," she replied, "because I'm feeling a little pissed off myself. But I can sleep over anyway." Ginny smiled, and Hermione found herself grinning, in spite of Ivannah's upsetting arrival. 

Later that same night, 

__


	2. A Sleepover, and Ginny Finds Out

Later that same night, Ginny arrived at the Gryffindor Fifth Year Girl's dormitory. She carried a large, flowery pink sleeping bag at least six years old, a pair of Hello, Kitty! pajamas, and the trusty chapstick her mother sent each month-LipSmackers in Strawberries 'n Cream. It was everything she needed for a sleepover, not including another girl.

"Gin! Come in, come in!" Hermione proclaimed, already decked out in her favorite slumber party nighties, a pale blue tank top and shorts with a racing turtle pattern. She had managed to pull all of her bushy reddish-brown hair into a scrunchie and deposit it at the top of her head. Ginny smiled and complied, unrolling her sleeping bag and placing it at the foot of Hermione's bed. Hermione negated immediately.

"Oh, no need to do that. You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor." Hermione was smiling until she saw Ginny's sleeping bag, which screamed Spandex, big hair, tight pants and the eighties. Hermione would have fainted at the sight of the hideous bag, but held it in for friendship's sake. Ginny couldn't help being poor, after all.

"Thanks, Hermione." She said, dropping onto the bed and pulling her ginger hair from the constrictions of its' tie. Her hair fell over her shoulders, were it momentarily frizzed upward and outward before cooling down and calming as if with a mind of its' own. Hermione always loved to watch this process: Ginny's locks continued to straighten until, at the end of the night, they were completely rectilinear. Ginny didn't seem to notice. 

"So," Gin remarked then. "What do you want to do? Talk about clothes? Make-up? Boys?" She faced Hermione.

"How about annoying sluts who prance around with nothing better to do than work on sticking out their chest and butt at the same time?" Hermione suggested sourly. She was thinking of Ivy, the fact that she acted like a whore and because of it irked ninety percent of the female population (or so Hermione guessed-it may have been higher) and the fact that she acted like a whore and because of it turned on one hundred and ten percent of the male population (there are those questionable people who fall under the male category when whores are involved). 

"Oh, Herm!" Ginny exclaimed, pretending to laugh but holding back her anger. The subject of 'Ivannah' made her head spin with-what? Anger? At least! Jealousy? Well, yes. Who couldn't envy that perfect body? What Ginny didn't feel jealous of was Ivy's unbelievable whore show. If she had a body that flawless, Ginny would probably let herself be a bit risqué, too. But Ivy took risqué to a new level. 

"What? I mean, I can't _stand_ her. Look at her!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air from her seat on Ginny's lupid sleeping bag. 

"You think I haven't?" Ginny said tartly. She couldn't keep her contempt for Ivy to herself for very long.

"She's so slutty!" Hermione denounced.

"Who does she think she is, the Hogwarts prostitute?" Ginny fumed.

"The town bicycle?"

"The Queen of Porn!"

"Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Girl of the Year!"

"Or better yet, the Playgirl of the Year!" 

By now both girls' irritation had turned into giggles, and they were clutching their stomachs in laughter. In their minds, Ivy fit each one of those headings. Whore on a bicycle, whore caught on tape, whore in a bathing suit, whore in…well, absolutely nothing. When they had composed themselves enough to attempt conversation, Ginny spoke.

"I hope she swallows cum the wrong way and chokes."

Hermione nearly choked herself, laughing. Although it was the most vulgar statement Hermione had ever heard come out of Ginny's mouth, it was also one of the funniest. Hermione didn't hear Ginny's dark humor much, and yet when she did, it never failed to bring Hermione to tears. "Ginny," she gasped out, "that was the dirtiest thing I have ever heard you say!" She was then consumed by mirth once again, and could not find it in her to speak. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When we see our heroes again, they are sharing in a spirited game of Truth or Dare with the other members of the Gryffindor Fifth Year Girl's dormitory. Lavender has the curtains pulled back around her bed and is stretched out, languid. Parvati, similarly, is draped across her own bed, and has let her longish brown hair fan out around her. Ginny and Hermione are sharing Hermione's bed, and Hermione looks slightly uncomfortable.

"C'mon, Herm. It is called _Truth or Dare_ for a reason. You said Truth. I asked you a question. You have to answer. So answer!" Parvati cried out. She was looking at Hermione, who, as you will remember, was looking uncomfortable.

"I'd rather not say," She finally blurted. Ginny rolled her eyes at her friend, and Parvati moaned in agitation. 

"HerMIONE!" She sent a despairing mien toward Lavender, who walked over to Hermione's bed and promptly wrapped her arm around the girl's shoulders.

"Herm," Lavender reasoned, "you can tell _us._" Hermione pouted and resigned herself to their questions. 

"Fine. My first kiss was…" she paused. Did Hermione really want Lavender and Patil, the two biggest gossips in Gryffindor, knowing that she had received her first kiss as part of a mutual consent to end both her and the boy's misery over not having been kissed previously? That that episode had, in fact, taken place only a few short days ago, and that she and the boy hadn't taken part in a real conversation since, because both Hermione and the boy couldn't look each other straight in the face? No, she believed that she did not. Besides, what harm could one little white lie do? "My first kiss was Ron Weasley." Herm continued, pausing to let this sink in. Ginny had to grab onto her for support, but no one else in the room seemed to be surprised. "It was two summers ago, when I was staying at his house before we all-Harry, Ron, Ginny,Fred, George, Percy and I-left for Hogwarts. Ron and I were just hanging out when he…" Hermione paused. Having Ron just randomly lean over and kiss her wasn't romantic enough. Didn't these girls think she was enough of a nerd already? "Ron knocked on my door and asked me to come outside. I said yes, because I thought he wanted to show me Harry's new broomstick, or something like that, on account of Mrs. Weasley doesn't allow brooms in the house. But what Ron really did was take me out to his backyard-you should see it, it's huge-and under a willow tree canopy and give me a candelit dinner for two. By this point I could pretty much see where he was going with this, so I closed my eyes and let him kiss me, even though I kind of thought it was weird. He was going to ask me out, I know, but I ran inside saying that I had something stuck in my teeth before he could." Hermione leaned back, pleased with herself. Now the girls in her dormitory had something to live up to! 

"Wow," Lavender breathed, and sat back down on her own bed, satisfied at having squeezed every bit of information out of Hermione as was possible. Parvati smiled dreamily. Ginny hyperventilated.

"You never told me this!" She accused, her face white as a ghost. Hermione chuckled uneasily. 

"It didn't seem important," she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. 

"Didn't seem IMPORTANT?" Ginny exclaimed. "My brother goes out of his way to woo you and it's not IMPORTANT?" She had rounded on Hermione.

"Well," Hermione persuaded, "it's not like anything serious between me and him ever happened again, like dancing in the moonlight or going on a romantic picnic, or something." Hermione wasn't quite sure where her last two sentences had originated from, but it didn't matter, because Ginny had already fainted.


	3. Hermione Smells An Evil Scheme, and An E...

From _Trials and Tribulations of an Adolescent Wizard,_ by Ronald Weasley [WhizzHard books, copyright 2009].

That was the night I became a man. Ivannah, or Ivy, as we called her, stirred new and more intense emotions in me than I had ever felt before. I had no doubt that I was in love with Ivy, which probably should have told me that what I was struck with was lust. Ivy had everything I could hope for at that age: beauty, grace, sex appeal. She sashayed just out of my reach, as I am sure she did most of us boys that year. I could look at no girl but her, and I really didn't want to. I had never seen so perfect a specimen as Ivy, and, being the naïve young person I was, I dreamed of her every night. Oh, Ivy, I would think. If only you could be mine! But I was a mere poor boy, with a big nose and too-red hair, and I knew somewhere inside of me that Ivy could never dream of me in turn. Thinking of it now, all Ivy did for me was keep me from dreaming of someone real, someone close, someone whom I would truly love later.

Hermione, as a rule, woke early on Saturday mornings.

There never seemed to be enough time in the regular teenager's Saturday to squeeze in all her homework, all her studying, and, of course, a bit mischief-making with Ron and Harry. 

This particular Saturday, Hermione got out of bed-or rather, she stood up from off the floor-fully prepared to explore whatever mystery was at hand with her two best friends. Halfway through her morning routine, Hermione remembered Ivy. She knew there would be no Sherlock Holmes games that day, when she thought of Ivy. Ron and Harry had fully devoted their time to coveting her, and that left none of it for Hermione. She sighed. What to do with her day? She couldn't very well sleep, she wasn't one of those nap people in the first place, and she _was_ borrowing Ginny's sleeping bag. She groaned and left her dormitory, resigned to a days' worth of hours at the library. 

"Hermione!" She turned. Who besides her was about this early? "Herm, I was thinking." Ginny said behind her. She had evidently followed Hermione from the dorm. "I figure-I figure I'm okay with you-you and Ron, you know, dating." Ginny was red as a beet.

"Oh, Gin!" Hermione laughed out loud. "Ron and I aren't dating!" She smiled positively at her friend and walked away, secretly rather distressed. What would make Ginny think that she and her brother were together? Then again, it had been pretty late when Ginny fainted the night before, so she may have heard Hermione wrong and assumed-or experienced a nightmare that told her-Hermione and Ron felt some kind of romance between them. That, Hermione decided, should not and would never happen. Any feelings Hermione had previously experienced while under the short, sparkly misinterpretations of that first kiss, were just that-short, sparkly, misinterpretations. Hermione was sure that there were no unwanted emotions in her for Ron. Pretty sure, at least.

Hermione thought she would get away from any thought of Ivy while at the library. She was wrong. All around her, people talked in groups at the arrival of Ivy. Boys made obscene gestures, girls (the less timid ones) practiced rude Italian gestures and other girls (the even less timid ones) sent Ivy those gestures themselves, when she passed by. Ivy didn't seem to notice, and if she did, it only encouraged her. Hermione slammed her book shut in a gesture of disgust, and left the library in search of a less Ivy-infiltrated place to study.

A few minutes later, Hermione found herself in a small hallway just off of the Charms corridor. To her right stood an ungainly statue of some sort of important magical historical figure, and to her left an unidentified door. Deciding that it was as good a place as any, Hermione sat down and spread her books around her. She had finished half of her Transfiguration homework when voices from behind the door startled her.

"No, no, she'll never go for _that_." Someone protested.

"What if I, like," Another countered, fishing for a response. The first voice interrupted. 

"Still no. This requires _grace_. Not idiocy." 

Hermione frowned. She knew those voices, from somewhere. She scooted closer until her ear rested against the door, and she could make out the voices with more accuracy. Now the first one sounded like a drawl and the second-the second became totally unfamiliar, rather than closer. Hermione shifted, to better understand their conversation.

"Tomorrow we have classes together." That was the first voice. It had an unmistakable scheming undertone. The second, which Hermione realized as totally new, had a rather thickheaded, bored note to it.

"What are we going to do?" The second voice asked now, thickly.

"Shut up, Crabbe." The first commanded. Hermione gasped. Malfoy! She could almost hear the evil cranks turning in his mind. And no wonder she didn't recognize Crabbe's voice! She had never heard it before! The voices resumed their conversation.

"All right," agreed Crabbe, and Hermione was sure that he was scratching his head in bewilderment.

"Is it settled, then? Our plan for tomorrow?" Draco inquired needlessly. Whether or not one of his malevolent plans had Crabbe's approval, the show would go on. Draco didn't really need Crabbe, he just preferred to have him there, so that he could avoid being pummeled while plotting. 

"Yeah," was Crabbe's sullen reply. Hermione turned around and gathered her things up with lightening speed, so that she could steer clear of any confrontation between herself and Draco, but it didn't prove necessary. Hermione heard Draco and his crony exiting the room from a back door, and she settled her work down with a sigh. Draco never had anything good up his sleeve, and this was undoubtedly not an exception. She would have rushed her information-whatever it proved to be-to Ron and Harry, but Hermione knew they were somewhere, dreaming about Ivy and not worrying about their own welfare, which would most likely by attacked by Draco the following day. Hermione, stuck in a paradox of to crash Harry and Ron's wishing party so they could save the day again or not to crash Harry and Ron's wishing party so they could save the day again, closed her eyes in defeat. Draco had a plan, moreover, Hermione knew he had a plan, and when he intended to carry that plan out, and yet she was not sure of herself to tell anyone. What Hermione didn't know was the details of the plan, and before she went blabbing to anyone she more than wished to identify the specifics. Deciding that trifles like Potions essays could be left for lazy Sunday afternoons, Hermione crammed her books into her bookbag-industrial leather, to help curb breakage-and ran down the hall. Wherever Draco was carrying out the next phase of his delightfully evil plan, Hermione would find him. She didn't want innocent people hurt, and she definitely didn't want to hear anything more about Ivy for the rest of the day. She could aid good people and evade any talk of Ivy at the same time. Pulling back her auburn hair and stuffing it into a ponytail quite roughly, Hermione headed down the corridors. Her messenger bookbag thumped rhythmically against her right thigh as she ran, strategically, through the school. Hermione barely felt the weight of her books over her shoulder, or the air in her lungs diminishing. Hermione ignored the pulsing in her legs and concentrated on finding Draco. Sherlock Holmes Saturday, here she came! 


End file.
